A-minor

by Brett Elizabeth Jenkins
 

WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED

I never remember my hands being so small. Never
rubbed them together and thought what tiny machines.

I never imagined the items I held could be little. I knew
I could hold anything; how large the red backyard bat

was, how hefty the ball. I sat with my hands up to the sky
and waited for robins to come to my fingers, knew

if I waited long enough I could hold
the song living in the red breast of that bird.

THESAURUS

What else can hands mean/ but magic/ I flip to the page of your hair/ it says: see spine/ I have seen it what a fine spine it is/ can it mean bend or snake/ does it mean long slow train that/ puts me in my home/ what does it mean/ when I wake up in the night/ see: dream of you falling from a bridge/ of course the birds are always something else/ see: twice bitten peach/ see: little porcelain plate/ see: how nicely I’m getting along with you